


Slimed

by arrow (esteefee)



Series: Slimed [2]
Category: due South
Genre: April Showers Challenge, Crack, Established Relationship, Haircuts, Humor, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-05
Updated: 2008-03-05
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:19:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/arrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"No arguing with the slimed guy!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slimed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spuffyduds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spuffyduds/gifts).



> Written for [](http://spuffyduds.livejournal.com/profile)[**spuffyduds**](http://spuffyduds.livejournal.com/) for [](http://slidellra.livejournal.com/profile)[**slidellra**](http://slidellra.livejournal.com/)'s C6D [Tag Game](http://slidellra.livejournal.com/107274.html?view=1629450#t1629450). As such, I warrant no guarantees for its tastefulness nor its copyediting.

The green stuff was all _over_ him, all gooped in Ray's hair and dripping coldly down the back of his neck and _squishing_ as it ran behind his ears. The squishing was the very worst part, Ray decided.

"Thanks for the warning, there, partner." He shot Fraser his best glare, the one that promised him dire consequences when they were in private. The kind that would involve Fraser on his knees worshipping Ray's dick for like at least an hour and a half to make up for this stupid mess Fraser had dumped him into.

Or dumped _on_ him. Literally.

It didn't help that Fraser had somehow completely avoided the wave of Slime that had burped from the vat over their heads while they hunted for Pete Rose, packager and purveyor of—among other, more illegal-type things—novelty toys such as plastic barf, rubber chickens, and, of course, green Slime.

"Honestly, Ray," Fraser said apologetically in the car on the way to the station, "I thought for certain you were aware of the proximity of the, er, hazard." He shuffled his hat around in his hands. "What—forgive me for asking, but what exactly is the purpose of that...substance?"

Ray gritted his teeth and tried not to notice how he kept squishing against the back of the car seat. "It's a toy, okay? Kids play with it. It's called Slime."

Fraser scratched at his ear. He wasn't looking at Ray. He was _not_ looking at Ray very specifically, which meant Ray must look pretty fucking ridiculous on top of the _coated with squishy slime_ aspect, which just pissed him off more.

"Don't tell me—you didn't have toy slime up in the Northwestern Areas."

"Well, of course we had _slime_ , Ray," Fraser said, sounding a little put out, "It's just that we had to make do with the naturally occurring variety. And we certainly didn't keep it in vats, as apparently you Americans do."

Oh. Oh, that was a swipe, pure and simple, and piled on top of the sliming, to boot. Ray now calculated it would take a marathon blow-job _and_ a hand-job in the shower, both after Fraser had removed every trace of this stuff from Ray's body.

He waited until they got to his apartment and were in the door before he turned to Fraser and moved closer, making Fraser back away in alarm. Ray raised one tacky hand.

"Can I take your hat, Fraser?"

"Uh, why, no, thank you, Ray." Fraser swallowed. "It's very kind of you, but I think I'll just—" Fraser spun a perfect one-eighty and headed toward the bedroom. He started to walk faster when Ray caught up behind him.

"Perhaps you'd like to get a shower, Ray?" As Fraser talked he was already getting himself out of the uniform in double-time, and he eyed Ray nervously where he'd stopped by the doorway.

"In good time, Fraser. In good time."

"Perhaps we should try the elk solvent on your hair."

"Oh, fuck, my hair!" Ray lifted his hand and, sure enough, the stuff was still all in there. He'd been distracted by the squishing, but a shower could take care of that. His hair, on the other hand—

"I'm so screwed. So, so screwed."

"Why is that, Ray?" Fraser sounded more relaxed, and Ray gave him a quick look.

He was already out of his uniform and wearing a pair of sweats. The uniform was nowhere to be seen. Sneaky damned Mountie. Ray wondered if Fraser had stashed it in the bureau when he wasn't looking, or maybe under the bed. Someplace safe, Fraser must've figured, although he should've known by now that Ray could be more persistent than Dief on a pastry hunt.

"Ray? Ray?"

"I'm screwed because this stuff just _will_ not come out of hair. Not with anything. I remember in fifth grade I threw a glob of it at Susan Schechter and the teacher ended up having to cut out part of her hair. Susie was so mad she stomped on the Green Lantern ring I'd given her."

"That is a truly tragic tale, Ray."

"Don't use your sympathy voice on me, Fraser. I'm not in the mood."

"Perhaps I could, uh, get you in the mood," Fraser said, sounding like he was going for being a sexy distraction.

All of a sudden Ray remembered his earlier plans A and B, and now he was thinking of extending it to a Plan C if it involved having Fraser fuck him on the sofa.

Ray really liked that sofa.

"Okay, here is the plan. And it's not a pretty one. Or, at least, I sure the hell won't be once we're done."

Fraser raised his eyebrow and shifted into parade rest.

"Your mission, should you choose to accept it—and you'd better, because otherwise I will have your ass, and not in the fun, sexy way, Fraser—is...we're gonna have to shave my hair."

Fraser's jaw dropped, with a clicking sound, even. "Ray, no!"

"There's no other option. Believe it."

"Surely there must be some solvent we can use—"

"Ng! Ng!" Ray jabbed his fingers at Fraser. "No arguing with the slimed guy!"

"But-but this is terrible, Ray." And Fraser really did sound upset. "Your hair...your perfectly experimental hair—" Fraser's chin scrunched so his lower lip pooched out.

It was kind of nice, really, seeing how devastated Fraser was.

"Aw, buddy. It'll grow back. And in the meantime, I won't be the joke of the station, which, believe you me—I don't plan to be stealing the crown from Dewey any time soon. So!" Ray clapped his hands together, ignoring the sticky sound. "Pitter-patter, partner."

Ray went into the bathroom and washed the slime off his face and hands, then ran a damp towel over his head to get the worst of it there. Then he dug through his old toilet kit for his electric shaver. He used to use it when he boxed regularly—keeping a buzz cut gave him more cred, and also managed to prevent the whole flat-haired thing that wearing the head guard caused.

When he turned around he found Fraser shifting nervously behind him. Ray started to say something reassuring but then he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and stopped dead.

Holy crap. This was even worse than the Blue Gunk Incident, as Ray had labeled it in his head. Green was _definitely_ not his color.

"I think I'm more of a summer," he mumbled to himself as he looked down to adjust the height setting on the razor. "Okay, we're gonna try half an inch. If that doesn't do it, we'll go to a quarter."

When Fraser didn't respond, Ray looked up and caught him frowning all sad-eyed.

"It's gotta be done, Frase," Ray said. "And maybe next time you'll think to say, 'Oh, dear, do watch out for the giant vat of gooey green stuff, partner.'"

Fraser tugged his ear. "Well, the substance _was_ viscous and moving rather slowly, Ray—" He broke off when Ray stabbed at him with one finger.

"Shut up. Take this." Ray handed over the razor and then sat on the edge of the tub. He pulled the trashcan over close to his knees and bent his head over it.

Fraser moved in front of him and plugged in the razor. It started up with a low hum.

"Are you sure, Ray?"

"Sure and ready, Freddie."

Fraser bent over him, and then Ray felt the razor buzzing low against his neck and then—holy shit, that felt good. Fuck. Fuck. It felt way better than when he did it himself. Why was that? All Ray knew was the vibrations were making the hair on his scalp stand straight up and take notice. And other parts, too. Other parts that had been thinking almost constantly about marathon blowjobs while Ray was busy with practicalities.

The first run drove a stripe of _oh my god_ right from the nape of Ray's neck all the way to the top of his head, and he grabbed his thighs trying hard not to squeak. Squeaking was bad, on the whole tough guy continuum, he knew—it was over there by the bushes along with giggling—but suddenly Ray wanted to do both, because next up, Fraser put a gentle hand on Ray's ear, holding it out of the way as he ran a lap by the soft part right behind the bone, that place where Fraser liked to kiss him because he knew it drove Ray absolutely fucking bugnuts with wanting it.

Fraser's big hand moved him, tilting his head to one side and holding him steady as he shaved another strip, and, Jesus, Ray was going to come in his pants. It was only a matter of time.

The steady hum went higher as Fraser lifted the razor, and then he turned away.

"Hey, you're not done!"

"I realize that, Ray, but the mechanism—" Fraser's voice sounded weirdly hoarse, and when he stopped right in the middle of his sentence, Ray smiled.

"—it needs cleaning," Fraser finally said.

"Hey, you remember when you washed my hair that time?"

"Oh, yes. Very well," Fraser said, two fathoms deep. He turned back from the sink, and when Ray lifted his head he got an eyeful of the big, cloth-covered lump below the waist of Fraser's sweats. Ray leaned forward and pressed his cheek against it, and Fraser—well, Fraser squeaked.

"Ray!"

"Mmm?" Ray moved his head a little, making Fraser gasp another protest, before he pulled back. "Let's get this thing done so we can get other things done, huh?"

"Yes, indeed, Ray," Fraser said, and he practically grabbed Ray's head.

It went faster after that, but Ray was still in a blissed-out boner coma by the time Fraser made the last swoop and stepped back to turn on the sink and wash up.

Ray ran his hands over his head and—wow—that was pretty short. But it felt good, too, all crisp and stiff.

"Oh, _Ray_ ," Fraser said when Ray lifted his head. And then Fraser was crowding close and running his palms along Ray's temples, past his ears and down. Ray shuddered, and Fraser made a really sexy sound, almost a whimper, which turned Ray on past _breathing_.

So, maybe this wasn't exactly the marathon blowjob he'd been planning, but Ray really prided himself on his flexibility. He reached up and pulled the string on Fraser's sweats and lifted them over his hard-on and down.

"Ray. _Christ_ ," Fraser said, almost yelping when Ray leaned over and rubbed his buzz cut against Fraser's cock. "Please, please, please," Fraser moaned.

"Please what, Fraser?" Ray said, because this was a primo chance here to get Fraser to _say_ it, to get him to just goddamned _ask_ for it like he deserved it, like they were really _together_ and he had permission to ask for what he fucking needed from Ray.

Fraser didn't say anything, of course, but his hands caught Ray's head and moved him. Ray could feel the bristles shifting back and forth against Fraser's dick. It seemed to be driving Fraser completely crazy, so Ray let him do it for a little while and then pulled back and looked up.

Licking his lips, Ray said, "Please _what_ , Fraser? Just ask me. Ask me."

Fraser's eyes were shut tight, but he opened them and stared down. He looked totally lost—absolutely unhinged by needing it, needing Ray. His hands kept stroking over Ray's head while he opened his mouth and licked his lower lip.

"P-please. Please suck me. You have to—suck me, Ray, please, just—"

Ray cut him off by sucking him right in, sucking him hard and licking down, until Fraser's cock was trapped deep in his throat.

Fraser strangled a moan, and his fingers tightened and then released on Ray's head, over and over, as if he wanted to push and pull but wouldn't. Ray put his hands over Fraser's and showed him how, showed Fraser how to fuck his mouth right, and then Fraser took over, gasping and grunting and yanking and fucking Ray's mouth _finally_ , fucking hot and nasty and needy and like he didn't _care_ whether Ray could breathe, or that his lips were getting raw and his jaw was starting to ache. Fraser just kept sliding his cock against Ray's tongue, and every time he thrust, his fingers shifted the short hair on Ray's scalp back and forth.

Ray let his neck go totally loose and just let Fraser use him until he jerked with a deep, low moan and pumped all his come into Ray's mouth.

Bracing his hands on Fraser's thighs, Ray straightened up, panting a little to try to catch up on his oxygen deficit.

"Dear God," Fraser said weakly, and then his voice changed, went tight. "Are you all right? Ray, did I—"

"I'm good. I'm brilliant," Ray said. "I'm fucking _brilliant._ Except I think my hard-on is breaking in half in my jeans, here. Wanna give me a hand up?"

"Of course! God—" Fraser helped him up, and kissed him hard before tearing into Ray's jeans, pushing them and his boxers off. He didn't touch Ray's cock, which Ray would have complained about but he was so fucking relieved to be free he didn't bother. And then Fraser nudged him toward the shower before stripping to join him.

"I-I quite like your new look, Ray," Fraser said, and his tongue was definitely playing with the inside of his cheek. Fraser reached for the shampoo and spent a good ten minutes scrubbing his fingertips through Ray's hair, which Ray could have told him shouldn't take that long, and he really didn't need the double lathering in spite of the directions on the bottle, but then Fraser might've stopped and it felt too damned good.

In between clumsy, wet kisses, Fraser soaped the rest of him—Ray's shoulders and arms, and his nipples, which Fraser liked to play with even though Ray thought they were too small to be very interesting. But he didn't complain about that, either. His whole body was just humming with _gotta fuck, gotta fuck_ —at this point he was in serious _pain,_ completely stupid with it.

Fraser, thank God, had figured that out. He got them both clean, and then grabbed the waterproof lube, giving Ray a quick look before using his fingers on himself, getting himself ready for fucking. Ray watched, and his dick went _thump_ against his stomach, because fucking Fraser in the shower, despite the obvious danger, was just about his favorite thing. He loved the way Fraser braced himself, all those big muscles working to keep him up and spread open, and Ray especially liked the slippery slide of their bodies as he worked his way inside and then started to fuck right away, because Fraser opened right up for him, he always let him in like that, like he wanted Ray there.

Ray didn't last long. Fraser was too fucking smooth and hot and _squeezing_ , and Ray was way past the redline, so he slung an arm around Fraser's waist, feeling the hard muscle flexing against the inside of his forearm as Fraser groaned and whispered, "Yes, oh, yes, Ray." Ray jerked in hard a few times and then he was creaming into Fraser's sweet ass.

"Holy Moses," Ray said, except his teeth were sunk into Fraser's shoulder so it came out more as _hoey mobuffs_.

But Fraser seemed to agree, because he mumbled something with a nod, his elbow pressing Ray's forearm against his belly.

They stumbled out and dried off, and settled down on the couch with leftovers and beer and wearing nothing but their towels. Fraser shifted over close, and he kept touching Ray's head, his warm palm moving up and down, and every so often he'd lean over and rub his cheek right above Ray's temple. And then Ray would turn his head and kiss Fraser for a few minutes before they broke apart and went back to watching the screen.

After a while the sea otters became way less interesting than the rubbing and the kissing, and Ray was about to turn and ask Fraser to fuck him right there on the couch, but Fraser beat him to it, pushing him down and whispering, "Ray, let me...please, I want to—" He slipped his hand under Ray's towel and nudged Ray's asshole with what felt like the knuckle of his finger. And, okay, he didn't really finish asking, but Ray was willing to give him partial credit, especially when Fraser pushed in, just a little, like a question mark.

"Hell, yes," Ray squeaked.

  
.......................  
2008.03.05


End file.
